


The Sun Will Come Out

by Moit



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Blow Jobs, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, Slash, Smut, Snowed In
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-20
Updated: 2013-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-05 05:28:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1090157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moit/pseuds/Moit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With his dad snowed in at the station, Stiles texts the only person he knows who can brave the storm to keep him from boredom: Derek Hale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sun Will Come Out

**Author's Note:**

> Special thank you to Naemi for the beta and the cheerleading, as always.
> 
> Also thank you to everyone in the Teen Wolf Holiday Exchange. You guys have certainly made the season brighter and more merry. <3

When Stiles' dad left for work—an overnight shift—one snowy evening, Stiles hardly expected him to call less than an hour later. 

“Hey, Dad,” Stiles said, balancing the cellphone between his cheek and shoulder so he could keep two hands on his controller. 

“Stiles!” The way his father said his name made him sit up and pay attention, the game in front of him all-but forgotten. “Stiles, listen to me: I'm fine, but my cruiser is in the ditch. _Do not_ leave the house. They are predicting one hell of an ice storm on top of this snow. I've got someone coming after me, but I'll be spending the night at the station. Do not leave the house, not even to go to Scott's—do you understand me?”

“Yeah, Dad, I'll be here,” Stiles promised. A quick glance outside told him everything he needed to know. It had been snowing nonstop all day—big white flakes that piled up in no time flat. Now the rain had started, and it would soon turn to ice.

Knowing his father was out there gave Stiles no small measure of anxiety. Of all the people in Beacon Hills, that the Sheriff was not only the most prepared to take care of himself, but that he would be one of the first people dug out of the ditch. 

Reluctantly, Stiles went back to his game, though he kept one eye on his phone until he went to bed. 

*

When he woke up the next morning, there were no messages from his father, and what he could see of his neighborhood was covered in a blanket of white. Feeling optimistic, he plodded about the house, making coffee and amusing himself; however, as night began to fall, Stiles grew nervous. 

He dialed the Sheriff's Department, and his dad answered on the second ring. His voice sounded tired and worn.

“Hey, Dad, it's me.”.

“Is everything okay?” 

“Yeah, I'm fine. I was just worried about you.” 

The Sheriff sighed audibly. “I'm sorry, Stiles. I should have called, but it's just been nonstop ever since.” 

“It's cool, dad. I understand,” Stiles said, and he did. This was how he spent his childhood, especially after his mom died, but it never got any easier. He hung up the phone feeling simultaneously better and worse than he had before the call. He did have an idea, and although it seemed frightening at best, it was better than nothing. 

He texted Derek.

_heyyy buddy. can u come over?_

_why_ , was Derek's immediate response. 

Stiles rolled his eyes. _please? dads snowed in at the station and im bored._

_ask scott_

_his mom wont let him out of the house. come on. u kno ur bored._ He considered writing 'lonely,' but figured that wouldn't score him any points. 

Derek's reply soon followed: _fine_

Stiles fist-pumped the air in victory. Derek might be a completely sourpuss, but at least he knew how to play Call of Duty. 

The creepy werewolf couldn't even use the front door. He scared Stiles nearly half to death, walking up behind the teen while he was in the kitchen making some toast. 

“I like jelly on mine.” 

Stiles jumped a foot in the air and smeared butter all over his wrist. “Don't _do_ that to me! What did you do? Crawl through my window again, _Edward_?”

“You're the one who asked me to come over,” Derek said, reaching around Stiles to pluck a piece of toast off the plate.

“You're getting my floor wet,” Stiles grumbled, lip curling at the puddle of water rapidly forming beneath Derek's feet. The werewolf looked soaked to the skin, but didn't appear to be shivering in the slightest. “Aren't you cold?” The words sounded more like an insult than a question. 

Derek shrugged his massive shoulders. He swallowed the rest of his toast, then in one movement twisted and pulled his wet shirt over his head. As he kicked off his shoes and began to unbutton his jeans, Stiles' brain kicked into gear, and he stepped in. 

“Whoa, whoa, what are you doing?”

“There's like three feet of snow outside, and I ran here. What do you think I'm doing?” Derek bent over and peeled the jeans down his legs. His grey boxer briefs left very little to the imagination. 

“Stiles,” Derek hissed after a long pause. “Are you going to get me some clothes, or do you want me to drip dry?” 

“Right,” Stiles said, shutting his mouth with a click. He led Derek upstairs and shut the werewolf in the bathroom while he trudged back down to throw his wet clothes in the washer. 

When Derek emerged, the clothes Stiles gave him—a pair of plaid pajama bottoms and a white t-shirt—seemed to fit a little better than the shirt he wore during the “Miguel” incident. 

“Everything fit okay?” 

“Not bad,” Derek said, rolling his shoulders. 

Stiles heated up a bag of pizza rolls and carried their bounty into the living room. Hanging with Derek was not like hanging out with Scott, but Stiles still enjoyed himself. One-on-one, Derek wasn't half-bad. He had a decent taste in music, and he could hold his own in a conversation, despite what he would lead the others to believe. 

When Stiles couldn't keep his eyes open any longer, he threw his controller down. “I should probably go to bed,” he said, a yawn bisecting his words.

“Where am I sleeping?”

“You're spending the night?”

Derek raised his eyebrows in that 'are-you-fucking-kidding-me' look. 

“Right,” Stiles said, forcing a smile. “Of course you are. No bigs. Uh, why don't you take my bed? I can sleep in my dad's room.” 

Unfortunately, he couldn't get comfortable. The pillows smelled like his dad's cologne, and he hadn't slept in here since his mom died. His mind just wouldn't settle. At one point, he must have fallen asleep, though, because he dreamt Derek was standing next to his father's bed.

Wait . . . 

“Come on,” he said gruffly.

“What?” Stiles asked, squinting into the darkness. “Is this the point where you murder me in my own house as a sacrifice to your creepy werewolf gods, or something?”

Derek growled, but it sounded more annoyed than angry. “Just get up. I can't sleep because all I can hear is the sound of you thrashing around in the sheets.”

“Well, excuse me,” Stiles said, sliding out of the bed. “I didn't realize I was offending your precious supernatural hearing.” He followed Derek back down the hall to his own bedroom, contemplating why he let the werewolf stay in the first place.

Derek climbed back in bed while Stiles remained awkwardly in the doorway.

“Get in,” Derek said, holding the blankets up. When Stiles hesitated, he added, “You obviously can't sleep in your dad's bed, and I'm not sleeping in there, so we're going to have to share.” 

Because he was starting to fall asleep on his feet, Stiles mentally compared this to sharing a bed with Scott when they were kids. It was a tight fit. Stiles wasn't as broad as Derek, but the two of them barely fit shoulder-to-shoulder on the twin-sized mattress, and lying next to a werewolf was like cozying up to a space heater. Sweat prickled against the back of Stiles' neck, but most disconcerting was the low-level arousal he could feel surging through his body. Undoubtedly, Derek could hear the thundering of his heart. 

“Stiles,” Derek sighed, rolling towards him. “What's the problem _now_?”

“Sorry, I'm just—sorry.”

Derek's arms snuck around Stiles' body, earning a squick of surprise from the teenager. 

“What are you doing?” Stiles asked, as Derek's hand slipped below the waistband of his pajama bottoms. 

“I'm going to jack you off in the hope that it will put you to sleep.” 

Stiles could do little more than stutter as Derek began to—very expertly—work his cock. When faced with this kind of stimulation, Stiles could hardly help himself. He was only 17, after all. Only a couple of strokes in, he came over Derek's fist. He was too embarrassed to admit that Derek was the first person other than Stiles to touch his cock. Usually, he couldn't sleep without jacking off first, and doing that in his dad's bed was just . . . weird . . . so this was a good idea on Derek's part. 

“Sorry,” Stiles mumbled, fumbling on the nightstand for a box of tissues. 

“That was kind of the point.” 

“Do you, uh, want me to do you?” 

“If you want,” Derek replied casually. He tucked one hand under his head, causing the muscles of his bicep to bulge. 

Swallowing convulsively, Stiles rolled back over. His eyes flicked down to the sizable bulge in Derek's borrowed pants as he palmed the werewolf's dick. It was bigger than Stiles', thicker, and probably longer, too. The biggest difference was the heat rolling off it in waves. 

He tugged at the waistband of the pants, and Derek shifted his hips upward to help Stiles drag them down and off, but otherwise he kept to himself. His dick flopped gently as he moved, which only served to draw Stiles' attention to the organ. Up close, it seemed much more fragile than Stiles would have expected. Uncut, the foreskin pulled away to reveal the pink glistening head underneath. The shaft curved just slightly to the right. Thick and veined, it nearly reached Derek's navel. The foreskin slid back and forth over the head of his cock as Stiles jacked him. He had seen plenty of naked guys in the locker room before and after lacrosse practice, but none of them had ever been in his bed. Not to mention the fact that this wasn't a lanky high school boy—this was Derek Hale, a _fully_ grown adult male werewolf. 

Stiles had to close his mouth because he realized he was beginning to drool. His dick twitched in sympathy. At first, he merely trailed his fingertips over the organ, watching as it twitched responsively. The base of Derek's cock began to swell.

“That's my knot,” Derek explained, clearing his throat. 

Nodding in understanding, Stiles ran his fingertips over _that_ , too, but stopped abruptly when Derek grabbed his wrist. 

“Don't do that unless you're prepared for what it means.”

Stiles gulped audibly. He knew what a _dog's_ knot was for, and that thought alone was more than enough to frighten him away from the bit of swollen tissue at the base of Derek's dick. Knot or no knot, his body was more developed than Stiles' would be for several more years. 

Moisture gathered at the tip of Derek's cock and curiosity got the best of him. Leaning down, Stiles swiped the broad, flat expanse of his tongue over it. Derek's hand shot out, fisting itself in Stiles' dark hair. He ground out the boy's name like a warning, and Stiles' eyes flew to Derek's face. He braced himself, preparing for a blow that never came. Those stormy eyes closed, and Stiles puffed a relieved breath over the cock he still held. Derek's hand became more of a steady presence than a punishment, and Stiles relaxed by inches. He began in earnest with little kitten licks, lapping up the precome Derek was leaking. It tasted slightly bitter, but the _naughty_ part of the act thrilled Stiles enough to keep him going. He dragged his tongue lower, tracing the flared head and the ridge underneath where the foreskin gathered. Taking the whole thing in his mouth wasn't bad, so long as Stiles didn't try for too much and end up choking. He did choke a couple of times, and he had to pull off completely, taking several deep breaths while his eyes watered. “Sorry.” 

“It's okay.” Derek's hand moved to the back of Stiles' neck, twisting in the short hairs there. 

From there, Stiles focused more attention on taking only what he could handle. The rest he made up for with his hand. Derek's knot swelled and visibly hardened, so Stiles knew he was getting close. He redoubled his efforts, moving as fast as he could without breaking his rhythm. The idea of swallowing seemed pretty gross, at least from what he'd heard the girls talk about at school, but he didn't want to piss Derek off, or something. 

Luckily, the werewolf made the decision for both of them: pushing at Stiles' forehead with his palm, Derek took his cock in hand, his pace so fast that it all became a blur to Stiles' eyes. The first spurt caught him on the chin; the second splashed across the bridge of Stiles' nose, and his eyes squinted shut in surprise. 

“You didn't have to—” Stiles started to say, when the last bit caught him across the mouth, some of it landing on his tongue. Reflexively, he licked his lips and swallowed. It wasn't as bad as he imagined, but he didn't plan to make it a regular thing. “You came in my eye.” An uncharacteristic chuckle sounded from Derek's throat and a moment later Stiles felt the werewolf press a tissue against his face. “Thanks,” he said, wiping the rest of the cum away while Derek took care of himself. 

When they were both clean, Derek pulled the blankets up over them, wrapping his arms around Stiles' body. “Would you be interested in doing this again?” Stiles asked before he lost his nerve. 

“Could be,” Derek replied, tightening his hold on the teenager.

The corner of Stiles' lip curled into a smile. Finally, he was able to sleep.

*

In the morning, the snow had finally stopped blowing and the sky looked mildly clear. Plows had been down the road a few times laying salt. Beacon Hills was slowly emerging from is snowy prison. 

“Do you want me to drive you home?” Stiles asked, rubbing at the chill in his bare arms as he watched Derek pull his freshly laundered henley on.

Derek shook his head. “I'll be fine.” 

At Stiles' despondent look, Derek cupped his cheek and pressed a kiss to the teen's lips. “I'll call you, okay?” The serious look in his eyes did much to assuage Stiles' fears. A moment later, Derek disappeared out the window. 

The Sheriff arrived home not long after that. “Stiles!” he called. 

“Hey, Dad,” Stiles said, thundering down the stairs. He threw his arms around the man, hugging him tight. 

“Good to see you too, Son. Is everything all right?” he asked when they parted. 

“I'm just glad you're home,” Stiles said honestly. 

“Me too.” The Sheriff glanced around at the plates in the living room and the empty bag of pizza rolls on the counter. “What do you say we go out for breakfast?”

“Let me get my coat,” Stiles said, racing back up the stairs. Things were definitely starting to look up.

Fin


End file.
